


A Morning Among Many

by sunshinemellow



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, I am obsessed with their morning routines and I needed to get it out, Mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27098596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinemellow/pseuds/sunshinemellow
Summary: She glanced down at the meagre breakfast set before her, and as always there was the nearly imperceptible faint curl of pleased surprise at the edge of her lips. He never understood, or perhaps had simply not solved, the surprise.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Joan Watson (Elementary), Sherlock Holmes/Joan Watson (Elementary)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99





	A Morning Among Many

It was simply another morning.

He had discovered something—a fleck of blood, previously missed, or perhaps more interestingly, intentionally ignored—buried in a dimly lit photo. It had taken him nearly half the night, and some snide part of him wondered if it had only taken so long because he might need some level of optical assistance in his encroaching not-so-old age.

He thundered up the stairs, the familiar tray of breakfast things rattling before him. The small teapot he had come to think of as “hers” with the earl grey steeped exactly the way she liked it (it had only taken a month of silently noting the expression on her face after the first sip to arrive at 3 minutes and 46 seconds as the optimum brew time), a small pile of eggs, and a dry piece of toast, upon which she would no doubtedly repeat her abhorrent habit of smearing the eggs as if they were a jam spread. 

“Watson!”

The door banged open against the wall, the sound echoing hollowly down the stairs. The lump under the comforters stirred, the tangle of black hair peeking out over the pillow rustling.

“Shhhh,” she said with a muffled groan, a pale face emerging from the blankets. “I was up late last night following a lead. You know this.”

“Yes, indeed,” he said simply, striding forward and setting the tray on her lap as she regarded him with sleep-filled and somewhat reproachful eyes.

She glanced down at the meagre breakfast set before her, and as always there was the nearly imperceptible faint curl of pleased surprise at the edge of her lips. He never understood, or perhaps had simply not solved, the surprise. The breakfasts weren’t a daily occurrence, but they happened often enough each week.

He wondered why it was always so surprising to her that someone should like to do something kind for her.

“I made a breakthrough last night, Watson.”

“In a minute, please.”

He sat with an air of exaggerated annoyance at the end of her bed, letting out a long whistling sigh that she ignored. She looked over at him over the rim of her mug, an errant beam of light slanting across the side of her face. She lifted her hand, shielding her eye, and look a slow sip of her tea.

And suddenly everything seemed to freeze.

Perhaps it was the breathtakingly mundane domesticity of the moment, or the quiet warmth of the bed underneath him with soft fabric brushing against his knuckles. Or the strand of hair she deftly tucked behind an ear as she blinked away sleep and watched him, eyes solemn and intent as they seemed to be so often.

He realized this was his favorite part of the day.

His morning ritual, her watching him over a mug of tea and returning to the waking world in slow sun-soaked seconds, waiting to be briefed on whatever theory he had managed to cobble together in the few hours since they had last consulted one another.

And with the realization came an almost suffocating happiness, immediately followed by the utter fear that somehow this, all of it, would be snatched away from him in the next instant. 

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?” He snapped to attention, banishing the confusing myriad of emotions to another corner of his mind to be dealt with later.

She was watching him carefully and he couldn’t help but wonder what she saw now that her perceptive powers rivaled his own. She seemed to always be turning over stones he had somehow missed—no stone left unturned indeed. He wondered if his thoughts and emotions were like a script written on his face for her, and her alone, to decipher.

Perhaps that is why her soft smile was a little kinder, a little more encouraging than normal after being unceremoniously roused. “You had something to tell me?”

“Yes,” he said mechanically. “I did.”

And then it all began again, him detailing his theory, her interjecting with quips or insights. A process, he suspected, that would continue until his definition of “the end of time.”

And he had realized he didn’t want it absolutely any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Smol drabble because I am obsessed with the quiet love and support of their relationship! I'm binge watching season 3 as we speak and this was rattling around my head. Thanks for reading!


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